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At this time of year some of us are haunted by the memory of a man speaking about it being funny how you remember summers by the records. And so, habitually and perhaps subconsciously, we start to identify the records that will potentially stand out over time, right? I know I do. And the early favourites this time around have been very much Lau-Ro’s Cabana and Jessica Pratt’s Here in the Pitch: two exquisitely beautiful and refreshingly brief records that somehow dovetail perfectly.

And actually there is a certain air of mystery to these two contenders for this summer’s soundtrack, as I genuinely know very little about the artists. I mean, I love the Lau-Ro record, and have been playing it over and over, but I can’t tell you much about them, not beyond the bare biographical bones. I know about their journey from Brazil to Brighton beach and back again, at least spiritually, but that’s about it, and do you really need to know more at this stage? No, for now the music speaks.

Coincidentally, very shortly after buying Cabana I found a secondhand Naxos CD of the Venezuelan composer Antonio Lauro, a new name to me, whose twentieth-century guitar music is exquisite. I am not sure why, but in recent years I have developed a fondness for solo classical guitar works. It might spring from a CD I picked up some years back in a charity shop of music for guitar by the Brazilian composer Heitor Villa-Lobos, his ‘Suite Popular Brasileira’, plus preludes and etudes, played by Eric Hill in 1977. More recently, I have spent a lot of time with a Julian Bream Plays Villa Lobos CD, hoping perhaps that I would get Travis McGee raising a glass of Plymouth Gin in salute on board the Busted Flush down at Bahia Mar. Travis’ creator John D. MacDonald refers to Bream’s recordings more than once in his books. JMD was a man of remarkably good taste: who else has mentioned Maria Toledo and Luiz Bonfá in a popular novel?

It doesn’t take much imagination to link these beautiful guitar pieces to the bossa nova pioneers João Gilberto and Antonio Carlos Jobim, onto Luiz Bonfá, Baden Powell, and so on. Similarly, it does not take a great leap of the imagination to connect the Brazilian guitar composition tradition to the debut LP by Lau-Ro. It is, after all, released by Far Out Recordings, Joe Davis’ label, which is now an institution, one that still occasionally releases an absolute gem, old or new.

I can vividly recall going into the Rough Trade shop in Covent Garden after work one day and buying an early Far Out release, the Quartin compilation from 1997 featuring Victor Assis Brasil, José Mauro and Piri (whose ‘Reza Brava’ became an obsession, and indeed still is!) out of curiosity, prompted no doubt by what Patrick Forge or Gilles Peterson played on their radio shows. The Quartin label story would gradually be revealed over the course of many years, and I treasure CD releases by Far Out of José Mauro’s classic Obnoxius, the demos on A Viagem Das Horas, and Piri’s Voces Querem Mate?

Similarly Far Out would have a longstanding and highly-productive relationship with Joyce, who I often feel like crowning as the greatest of Brazilian composers and performers. Again, I can recall getting her early Far Out release Hard Bossa and the Mr Bongo compilation in that lovely basement Rough Trade shop in Neal’s Yard. I guess it must be 25 years ago now, if that is possible. In more recent times Far Out has released Joyce’s Natureza, a holy grail of sorts.

This set is the surviving recordings of a projected LP Joyce made with the great Claus Ogerman who as an arranger worked with all sorts, from Tony Middleton on his Northern Soul greats ‘To The Ends of the Earth’ and ‘Paris Blues’ to Stan Getz, Bill Evans, Cal Tjader, and Antonio Carlos Jobim, including the revered first instalment of the Jobim & Sinatra sets. Over the years there had been tantalising allusions to this lost Joyce record, but it would be 45-odd years before it was possible to produce a cohesive LP or CD package, and it is as wonderful as one would dare hope.

In 1976 Joyce, with Mauricio Maestro and Naná Vasconceles, was in Paris, experimenting with sounds and ideas, a process captured on the superb Far Out set Visions of Dawn. The following year the trio were in New York, working with an enthusiastic Ogerman and some of the finest jazz musicians, like Joe Farrell, Michael Brecker and Mike Mainieri. The results, even in an arguably unfinished state, sound incredible. An early version of Joyce’s signature song ‘Feminina’ opens proceedings in its stretched-out 11-and-a-half minute splendour, and another couple of the composer’s classics, ‘Mistérios’ and ‘Moreno’, appear in an early form.

And yet, for all the brilliance and artistry on show, there were no takers, not even CTI or Kudu, so the tapes were locked away in Joyce’s archives. A tragedy, naturally, but if it had appeared would the story have been the same? Would Joyce have returned to Brazil in quite the same way and have created a few years later, into the ‘80s, her quietly revolutionary holy trinity of records: Feminina, Água e Luz, and Tardes Cariocas (the last one there being an early Far Out reissue in 1997).

This year Far Out’s ongoing salvage operations have meant we have been able to bathe in the beauty of the debut LP by Argentinean guitarist Agustín Pereyra Lucena from 1970, with Helena Uriburu singing exquisitely in her first professional recording session on several tracks. The LP features four Baden Powell numbers, which gives a strong sense of where Agustín was coming from. It is a simple, almost traditional (though with a twist) set, beautifully stark at a time when Brazilian music itself was evolving into something more ornate in the MPB era, to generalise wildly. It has been one of my most-played records this year. It is just so gorgeous and unspoilt. And as a sort of added bonus, on the cover, the guitarist looks (if you squint and look at things lopsidedly) something like a young Che G.

Like that Agustín Pereyra Lucena reissue, Lau-Ro’s first record has that same very special sense of warmth, intimacy, softness, wistfulness and melancholia. And it is not just about that Brazilian tradition which they tap into. Any list of good things suggested by Lau-Ro’s music could include the delicacy and single-mindedness of The Clientele (or, indeed, Amor de Días), their refinement belying steeliness, a reflective Robert Wyatt, the gentleness and elegance which is there on Shleep and beyond, that soothing tradition of Alfie and Robert’s lullabies, the point where something like Erasmo Carlos’ ‘Meu Mar’ (from  Sonhos & Memorias 1941 – 1972) sounds like an affectionate nod to Michael Head and where Michael’s own music meditatively wanders (not often enough now) down Brazilian pathways, and maybe, just maybe Erik Satie and the various incarnations of Alison Statton and Spike, Shuggie Otis’ Inspiration Information plus, an all-time favourite, Kenny Burrell’s Midnight Blue. And tomorrow some other things.

Lau-Ro the person plays most instruments on the record, but Lau-Ro as a group features telling contributions from Jamie Broughton on trumpet and trombone, Isobel Jones on flute, and George Lloyd-Owen on cello, creating an off-kilter chamber ensemble that enchants. Elements are naggingly familiar, particularly on the instrumental tracks like ‘Ensolarade’, literally a sunny work, with its suggestions of Chicago Underground activity, recalling a moment in time at the end of the old millennium. Think of Bettina Richards’ effortlessly cool Thrill Jockey as central to the activity and a cluster of compelling releases, with Tortoise’s TNT, The Sea and Cake’s Nassau, Isotope 217’s The Unstable Molecule, and Sam Prekop’s solo LP forming cornerstones of a sensibility.

This was a time when Tortoise were covering Joyce’s ‘Aldeia De Ogum’ for a Peel session, touring with Tom Zé (his Luaka Bop compilation, part of the label’s Brazil Classics series, was so important back then), the links to Stereolab here, not to forget key figures on the scene, like Bundy K. Brown, Casey Rice the Designer, Rob Mazurek, Sara P. Smith, Chad Taylor, Josh Abrams, etc. And, with a tangential Tortoise connection, there was a little later the Savath & Savalas record Aprop’at, which hints at the hazy darkness of Lau-Ro’s record and features a lovely cover of ‘Um Girassol Da Cor De Seu Cabelo’ from Clube da Esquina.

Above all, La-Ro’s ‘Ensolarade’ makes me think of ‘La Jetée’, which was in many ways is the signature tune of that Chicago scene. This Jeff Parker composition, recorded by Isotope 217, and then Tortoise, is one of those magical tracks where you go on hearing things anew or sounds not even there. I have to confess that, into the new millennium, I didn’t keep up with or wasn’t aware of everything that was going on: all the various incarnations of the Chicago Underground Duo, Trio, Quartet, Orchestra, and like-minded splinter projects, sporadically having fun catching up, filling in gaps (Chicago Underground Trio’s Slon is a particular current favourite), joining the dots.

My interest in this sphere of activity was reactivated by recent Jeff Parker releases. Picking up on things that I missed, I particularly like Jeff as part of the Chicago Underground Orchestra’s 1998 Playground set, and the version of ‘Blow Up’ which opens the record. I have no idea how I missed that at the time. Similarly I have to admit to not being aware of the Chicago Underground Trio’s Possible Cube which closes with another interpretation of ‘La Jetée’. And  Jeff Parker revisits his composition on his own solo guitar set recorded in 2022,  Forfolks, a very beautiful record. The original version of ‘La Jetée’ might well have been recorded before Lau-Ro born, but that means nothing if all those ecstatic young people at Arthur Verocai’s triumphant Barbican shows are anything to go by.  

All that Chicago activity is part of a happy time inside my mind, something helpful to cling to in bad times. I, however, think we still have a lot to learn from the scene’s openness and reaching out, its connections to the Windy City’s disparate musical traditions of great soul, jazz, house, blues, whatever. Nostalgia? No, I don’t think so. At least, it’s not that simple. That music, all those records, feel very current. In fact, shortly before writing this, I heard Tortoise’s ‘TNT’ on the radio, and it sounded incredible, then it was followed by African Head Charge’s ‘Crocodile Shoes’; things don’t really get much better than that.

Those two tracks were among those played by Nicky Soft Tissue, co-host of Ghost Notes Worldwide, a long-running residency on NTS: “tune in for that post-twilight sound. Night time music of all strains, with blunted R&B and hip hop instrumentals, neo-downtempo productions, slow jams, and hazy dancefloor sounds.” Well, that’s what the station’s blurb says, but it doesn’t even begin to cover Nicky’s eccentric approach and mad choice of sounds, all very much in the sense of: “What on earth was that?”, with plenty of his own productions under all sorts of identities (such as Chronic Fatigue, I think), and works-in-progress thrown into the mix. And, rather like Jeb’s Jukebox over at Caught By The River, it has almost by stealth become a highlight of modern day life.

I can tell you next-to-nothing about Nicky (and his ‘professional name’ is rather a confusing one to Google, to say the least!) except that he is, I think, Bristol-based and has produced the best (as in ‘my favourite’) UK hip-hop record in a very long time. His collaboration with the gifted and articulate (plus presumably London-based; he certainly sounds it!) rapper and vocalist ELDON, a very limited edition cassette and digital release called TERRA INCOGNITA: Book One, from late last year, is wildly abstract and a total joy, albeit seemingly a well-kept secret. It is a brilliantly inventive record that serves as a reminder of the forward-looking activity taking place deep into the shadows of the music business.

It’s billed as being “an overdue meeting of the poet and a recluse”: “two world builders traverse unknown terrain. myth making and mind mapping across 13 tracks”. And it barely makes it to the half-hour mark. The opening number ‘beaucoup hoodoo’ features some sublime poetry at the end from the multi-disciplinary artist Asmaa Jama, while the set closer has the best song title Tortoise never used: “in our dreams we fly like gods and why is that huh? Because humans used to fly not too long ago”.

I am not sure if it makes any sense, in terms of connections, but listening to TERRA INCOGNITO has made me want to go and dig out ‘Blue Flowers’ by Dr Octagon, anything on Mo’Wax involving Divine Styler, Blackalicious’ Nia, and maybe Antipop Consortium’s Tragic Epilogue or the EP that came before it, The Ends Against The Middle. Coincidentally or not, that music’s from the same timeframe as the Chicago Underground activity we were talking about. Looking at it logically, though, when these records came out Nicky Soft Tissue and ELDON would surely have been kids, at most, and anyway, importantly, the duo sound simultaneously out of time and somehow very ‘now’.

It is a strong contender for my ‘record of the summer’, if delayed reactions are allowed. It’s very much part of the soundtrack, anyway. It is so exciting to stumble across something so startlingly good, something totally out of the blue. On the other hand, there is a danger in overlooking the arguably over-exposed, just because everyone is directing their attention in that particular direction. For sometimes there’s a good reason why this is happening.

You probably know better than me that Jessica Pratt is considerably further along her career trajectory than Lau-Ro, so that goes some way to explaining why her Here in the Pitch is far more fully developed than the ideas explored on Cabana. I have to confess that Jessica’s previous work had totally passed me by, and I suspected her recordings were not for me. That is, until I stumbled across her Rhythm on the West series of shows on NTS, and was rather intrigued. Basically it was just Jessica playing her favourite music over the course of four shows to celebrate the release of Here in the Pitch. And many of the things she played were so good that I realised there must be far more to her than what I thought would be the case.

That sounds horribly shallow doesn’t it? It’s not as though everyone with good taste can compose and sing enchantingly. Far from it. But this felt like something more than simply a batch of records. It seemed to be a glimpse behind the scenes, an insight into Jessica’s thinking, and it made me want to explore more. It is certainly not the first time something like this has happened. I once thought Ali Smith’s books were not for me until I heard her on Desert Island Discs, where among her choices were Orange Juice, Ella, Dusty and Sylvie Vartin, so I was quickly convinced I needed to investigate. This was around the time the first of her seasonal quartet was published. And, yeah, it is nice to be wrong. I was very wrong about Jessica Pratt. Here in the Pitch was not what I expected at all. Mind you, it was apparently not what some of her long-term fans expected either, so there you go.

On those NTS shows she played some incredible stuff: selections by Lalo Schifrin, The Association (but not a number I had heard before), Duke Ellington, the Feminine Complex, Jobim, Tim Buckley, Karin Krog, and even something from Leyland Kirby’s The Caretaker project built on fragmented memories from a haunted ballroom. She also played Yusef Lateef’s recording of  ‘Love Theme from Spartacus’, one of the most beautiful things ever, and an early version of John Denver’s ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane’ which is wonderfully apt for fans of Kevin Rowland’s reminiscing.

There were tracks that would, in any other context, make me head for the hills, but there were also all sorts of wonderful things I was not familiar with, like Harvey Mandel’s version of ‘Cristo Redentor’, Nick De Caro’s recording of ‘Caroline No’, and Cloe Martin’s gorgeous ‘Life Race’, which I very quickly became obsessed with.  Jessica’s openness was a complete joy, and she demonstrated an ability to isolate moments of wonder which may be buried among the ‘everyday’.

At times it felt as though she was revealing clues about what forces shaped Here in the Pitch, like Blossom Dearie singing ‘Lonely Town’, which is so very much a song that has the same feel as the LP. Look it up on YouTube, and the chances are you’ll find an old post where it even looks like Jessica sheltering under an umbrella, in a (pinchable) photo I feel I should know, and indeed you may well do. It is easy to hear on this gorgeous track why the bossa pioneers in Brazil were so taken with intimate vocal jazz records coming out of the States. It’s from the wonderful Blossom Dearie Sings Comden and Green LP from 1959, by the way. Oh, and Kenny Burrell is on this record.

And then, for me, the highlight of Jessica’s shows, or the real revelation, was Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Although the Sun is Shining’. When I first heard it I had to rewind the show to play it over and over. I really couldn’t believe it was Fleetwood Mac. Danny Kirwan’s voice sounds so eerily desolate. It is such a Here in the Pitch song. And in my happy ignorance, I was convinced it must be some lost single from the end of the 1950s or very early 1960s. Some stark, haunting, tremelo-infused doo wop ballad on a wildly obscure independent label, which I guess is apt, as oddly on initial listens Jessica’s new record made me think of The Fleetwoods’ ‘Tragedy’ or something like Skeeter Davis’ ‘End of the World’, and yet somehow something stranger was nagging away at the back of my mind. Eventually, it all came to me.

Ages ago I stumbled across a Numero Group playlist on Spotify, and subsequently lost it or removed it from my library. Anyway, I found it again recently, and it had grown alarmingly, so had lost something in transition. It had in the meantime spawned a bona fide Numero Group release, You’re Not from Round Here, swathed in flights-of-fancy faux film noir lore. Basically it’s ‘spectral pop’ (to coin a phrase close to Jessica’s canon) with lots of angst-ridden, moody instrumental twanging going on, but with the occasional broken ballad along the lines of Peggy Lee-meets-Link Wray or variations on Jody Reynolds’ ‘Endless Sleep’.

The original playlist featured lost gems like Cheryl Thompson’s ‘Black Night’, Kay Johnson’s ‘Walk Through The Valley’, ‘16.88’ by Hayden Thompson, and The Monzas’ incredible ‘Forever Walks a Drifter’, which all suggest the small town Americana Jim Thompson might write about, or a lost soundtrack for Dorothy B. Hughes’ Ride a Pink Horse. There is something so chillingly wonderful about that era’s bizarre interface between Brill Building pop, folk, country, doo wop, and torch song ballads, and it is hardly surprising Jessica has chosen to spend time there and soak up the influence. Always assuming she did, that is.

Michael Bracewell, in an entertaining conversation with Gwendoline Riley to tie-in with his Unfinished Business, talked about the ‘Quantum Leap’ (and, yes, it feels like it should be capitalised!) in terms of creativity and ability and craft (I am extrapolating – Michael puts it far more concisely), and offered the example of F. Scott Fitzgerald making the jump from his ‘young man’ novels to The Great Gatsby. Jessica from Quiet Signs to Pitch makes a similar leap. I readily acknowledge my distorted view comes from approaching her records from the wrong direction, but in terms of the strength and depth of her songs Pitch feels ‘next level’.

There are several exquisite songs on the record, and already some are among my favourite things ever. I adore those moments where her voice goes deeper, and actually it’s the occasional drums and percussion  which make a world of difference, partly because they are barely there. I guess the presence of Mauro Refosco on percussion helps reenforce suggestions of a bossa influence at work on Here in the Pitch. Or is that wishful thinking?

I love her ‘World on a String’ so much with its suggestion of Kenny Burrell sitting in with the Velvets ‘after hours’ at Max’s. It really is a toss-up which is my favourite song: ‘World on a String’ is so great, true, but the closing track ‘The Last Year’ seems the one for me. It may not make sense, but the beginning makes me think of ‘The Beat Hotel’ by Biff Bang Pow!, the version with Christine singing, and then I seem to hear momentary or imaginary echoes of Buffalo Springfield’s ‘Out of My Mind’ and the Velvets’ ‘Sunday Morning’ (that pairing sounds like some dream ‘lost’ outtakes from the Rainy Day project with Kendra Smith taking the lead!). So, onto the coda, with Al Carlson in deep concentration at the piano, making me sing the “I’m going back to find some peace of mind” motif from ‘Do You Know The Way to San Jose’, and perhaps now I should mention ‘The Last Year’ is the song I have decided to adopt for this summer, for all sorts of reasons, but particularly for its theme.